Tele-Doom
by mirari1
Summary: FINISHED! Final chapter up! Zim meets some real live telemarketers! And a really annoying receptionist. Have I mentioned how this is the LAST chapter? Read & review!
1. Default Chapter

            This fic was inspired by 2 cases of Surge and one reeeeeally persistent telemarketing phone-slave.  Um, I'm grounded.  You don't really want to know why. 

            The day dawned brightly over the small green house.  Inside, Zim was preparing for another hard day of attempting world domination.

            "Gir!" he ordered, addressing the small green robot sitting on the couch.  "I'm leaving for skool now.  Guard the house while I'm gone, and don't let anyone in this time."

            The little robot jumped off the couch.  Its eye color changed from cerulean to red, and it saluted.  "Sir!  Yes sir!"

            Zim eyed the robot suspiciously, as though not quite certain it had understood.  "I'll be back in a few hours.  Try not to mess anything up."  He pulled open the door, and began the walk to skool.

            Gir went back to the couch, and became totally engrossed in the Scary Monkey Show.  "I love this show," it sighed happily.

            Gir had been watching the monkey for several hours when the phone began to ring.  After a moment, Gir picked it up.

            "Hello," said the voice on the other end.

            "Hiiiiiiiii!" answered Gir.

            "I'm calling to tell you about our fabulous product that you just can't live without!"

            "Oooohhh, what is it?"

            "It's--"

            "What is it?"

            "It's--"

            "What is it?!" 

            "That's what I'm trying to tell you!" the voice yelled.

"Okay."

"Our product is the most amazing product ever.  After you buy it, your life will never be the same again!  Our product will make you rich!  Our product will make you famous!  Our product will help you lose weight!"

"Will it give me cupcakes?" Gir asked.

The voice on the other end considered this.  "Um, yes.  Yes it will."

"Gimme!" Gir yelled.  "I need it!  I need it or I will explode!"

"Don't you want to know what it is?"

"No."

"Okay then.  How many units of our fine product would you like to order?  Five?  Ten?  Fifty?"

"All of them!  I want all of them!"

"Excellent decision.  And how will you be paying for these?  Cash?  Credit? Suitcases full of stolen organs?  We're flexible."

"I don't knooooow."

"I'll put you down for the organs.  Okay.  Before we mail you your purchase, we need you to answer a few simple questions.  Is that all right with you?"

"Yay!"

The telemarketer reads Gir the standard list of annoying telemarketing questions.

"And, finally, do we have permission to share this information with other companies?"

"Taquitooooos!"

"I'll take that as a yes.  Your order should arrive in 2 to 3 days.  Thank you for your time."

The telemarketer hangs up.  Gir loses interest now that the phone is no longer speaking to him, and goes back to watching TV.

Okay.  That's all for chapter one.  But you know what?  I still feel like writing.  My parents are out, so the whole grounded thing doesn't apply right now.  Yay!  So, I'm going to regale you all with my amazing new mini-fic.  Here it is: 

Random Acts of Dumbness:  Episode 1

Setting: K'Rin's academic geometry class.

Time: Middle of eighth period.

Note: Everything in this fic is true.  This is the transcript of an actual conversation that took place in K'Rin's class.

Teacher:  Okay class, who can tell me the measure of an angle with a complement of 60 degrees?

Student 1:  30 degrees.

Teacher:  How about a complement of 25 degrees?

Student 2:  65 degrees.

Teacher:  165 degrees?

Math Doofus:  Negative 75 degrees.

Teacher:  No, that's wrong.  You can't have a negative angle.  Distance can't be negative.

Math Doofus:  But why?

Teacher:  Because it can't.

Math Doofus:  What if I walk backwards?

Teacher:  It's still a positive distance.

Math Doofus and two of his friends stand up and begin pacing backwards across the classroom.

Math Doofus 2:  Look, it's negative distance.

Teacher:  No, it's not.

Math Doofuses 1,2,and 3 go from walking backwards to attempting the moonwalk.  The teacher slaps herself on the forehead, then gives them all detentions.  

End transcript.

K'Rin's conclusion:  Negative distance may be a myth, but negative IQ is proven fact. Food for thought:  In two years those guys will be able to vote. 

On that sobering note, I will shut up.  R&R please.


	2. Fishsticks and Floor Wax

Welcome to the obligatory ranting/whining/insane-babbling portion of my fic.  Unfortunately, topics for ranting/whining/babbling about are slim these days, so this will be rather short.  Details about the help I asked for in my summary are available at the end of the fic.  Yes, the end.  That means you have to scroll all the way down to the bottom of the page to find out what I was talking about.  Since you have to scroll anyway, you might as well read the fic while you're at it.  A most diabolical plan, no?  Oh, and review!  Reviews are good too.

Two to three days later…

            Zim was just returning home from school.  He was scratched, bruised, and covered in a very nasty water-induced rash from his last face-off with Dib.  Needless to say, he was very happy to have made it home.  

"Miserable dirt child," he muttered to himself.  "I'll make him rue the day he ever messed with ZIM!"

He pulled open the door.

            "Welcome home, son," the robot parents greeted him cheerfully.

            "Gir!" Zim snapped, "Where are—Aaahhhhhhh!  Gir!  What is THIS?!"

            The room was covered in packages.  The enormous mound of boxes reached from floor to ceiling, and blanketed everything but the TV, which was playing an annoying infomercial.  Gir's giggling could be heard emanating from the bowels of the largest pile.  

            "Gir, come here!  NOW!"

            At the sound of Zim's voice, Gir stuck his head out of the pile, then tumbled down the side of it to land at Zim's feet.

            "Hi Master!" he said happily.

            "Gir," Zim said in a soft, dangerous tone, "What is all this…brown, cube-shaped…stuff?"

            "My boxes!"

            "Where did you get these…boxes?"

            "The telephone gave them to me!  Wheeheeheeeeeeee!"  He resumed his cavorting in the mountain of packages.

            "Gir!  I'm not finished with you!  What is in these packages, and who brought them here?  Have you been letting humans in the base again?"

            "Wheeheeeheeehooooo!  Where's my cupcake?"

            Zim growled in frustration, realizing that Gir was going to be of little help.  He picked up one of the boxes at his feet and inspected it.  There was a piece of paper stuck to the side, with some human writing scribbled on it.  He pulled it off and read it.

            "Dear valued customer number 7254190,

  Thank you for ordering from Webugu Corporation.  Our products are…pretty decent!  You have ordered 5,796 units of product number 435.  Payment comes to a cash total of four million dollars, and is to be paid in pilfered organs.  Please send your payment to the address given at the top of the page.  Thank you, and have a nice day!"

            "WHAT!" Zim screeched.  "Four million human dollars!  In organs?  What's in these boxes, anyway?"

            He tore off the lid of the box in his hand, and dug through the mass of Styrofoam packing peanuts inside.  His gloved hand brushed something solid.  He pulled out a large can.

            Zim read the label.  "Industrial grade…floor wax?  Floor wax?!"

            He threw the can at the ground.  Then, he went into the kitchen, where he was forced to use the garbage can entrance to his labs.  The toilet was inaccessible due to the astronomical number of boxes piled on top of it.

            "Computer, take me to my labs!"

Five minutes later, in Zim's secret laboratory…

            "Computer, what is this Webugu Corporation thing?"

            "Processing, PROCESSING! Webugu Corporation.  A human corporation whose sole purpose is to gain human currency.  Functions by exploiting the very stupid and the very gullible.  Employees called telemarketers contact potential victims via telephone, and then manipulate them into buying cheap and useless products at ridiculously high prices.  The company then sells personal information about its victim to other soulless corporate entities like itself, until the hapless victim (also called a customer) is devoid of currency and is forced to live on the streets as a wandering hobo."

            Zim glared at the screen.  "Pitiful human enterprise!  No one exploits a mighty Irken Invader!  NO ONE!  When I conquer this spinning ball of filth, I will be sure to devise an especially horrible punishment for these…telemarketing creatures."

            "You've got mail!" the computerized voice interrupted Zim's rant.

            "Computer, put the message on screen," ordered Zim.  He wondered who was contacting him.  There were really only two possibilities:  either the Almighty Tallests were calling to check on his mission, or Dib had finally managed to hack into his database.

            "You have 2,763 messages," the computer replied.

            "WHAT?" Zim screeched, "Impossible!"  He was on a secret mission.  The only two people in the galaxy who had the correct frequency by which to contact him were the Almighty Tallest, and they had never sent him even one message before, let alone over two thousand.

            "Computer, identify the origin of these transmissions."

            "Unable to comply.  Over two thousand seven hundred separate points of origin."  

            Zim narrowed his eyes.  "Computer, put the first message on screen."

            The message began to play.  It featured a short, chubby, balding, man with an obnoxious voice and a loud tie. 

            "Hello hello hello!" he said, in far too chipper a tone.  "Are you tired of eating the same boring thing every night?  Sick of bland tasteless dinners?  Of course you are!  Luckily, C-Food Industries is here to help!  For the low, low price of just $99.99 per serving, you can order our patented dehydrated reconstituted fish product sticks!  Twenty percent fish substitute, eighty percent endangered sea mammal!  Call now to order!"  A number began flashing on the screen.

             "The telemarketers!"  Zim yelled, outraged, "But how did they discover the location of my secret base?"

            He switched off the monitor.  "Foolish human phone-lords," he growled.  "I was _going_ to wait until after I conquered this pathetic planet before I dealt with them, but now…"

            He boarded the elevator to return to the main part of the house.

            "Now, they will suffer a fate far, far worse than that of the rest of their disgusting species.  Oh, what a fate they shall suffer!  They will never escape the wrath of ZIM!  NEVER!  Mwahahahahahahahaaaaaa!"

            Oooooooh.  This is starting to get good, no?  I only have one itty-bitty problem.  I have most of chapter 3 already written up, but I have a serious shortage of stupid telemarketing/infomercial company names and products.  If you have any ideas, please include them in your review!  Credit will be given in the fic to anyone who submits.  The next chapter will be up much faster if you guys help me out on this!  


	3. Junk Mail

            Hello hello hello!  Hope everyone had a very IZ-filled holiday.  I am sad to announce my status as the only IZ fan on the planet who did not receive an IZ T-shirt for Christmas.  To compensate, I drove my relatives to the very brink of madness with my cousin's karaoke machine.  God, I love those things.

Zim stepped out of the garbage can, and made his way through the kitchen.  He glared at the boxes as he reentered the living room.  Gir had torn open many of the packages, and the floor was strewn with Styrofoam peanuts.

            "Gir!  Put on your disguise.  I must pay a visit to the telemarketers."

            Gir saluted.  "Yes, my master!"

            He pulled the green dog suit over his head.  Zim put on his alternative old-man disguise, consisting of a beard, brown coat, platform shoes, and a hat with a flower stuck in it.  He grabbed Gir's leash and yanked open the door.

            "Aaaaaaaaahhhhhh!

            An avalanche of letters poured from the open doorway, completely burying Zim.  He scrambled out from beneath the enormous pile.  He plucked an envelope from his hat and read the back of it.  Zim screamed again, and threw the letter down quickly.

            "THE MADNESS!"

            It was an advertisement for Instant Creepy Chihuahua-in-a-Can.  (Just add water.)  A picture on the back of the envelope featured a very mangy looking Chihuahua with a bite taken out of one ear.  The rest of the letters were similar advertisements, featuring equally useless products.  Some of the standouts included New and Improved Acne Blast, Poop Cola action figures, and some Japanese corporation that sold rocks.

            "The telemarketers!" Zim growled.  "Filth.  Come along Gir."

            He pulled Gir's leash, dragging the small robot through the door.  Gir giggled, and stuffed a handful of junk mail into his mouth as he slid through the pile.

            Halfway down the street, Dib was not happy.  Far from it, actually.  He was out of breath, scratched, and pretty much dissatisfied with life in general.  Part of this was due to the fact that he was crouching in a rather small and prickly bush trying to stay hidden, while simultaneously attempting to peer at Zim's house through a very large and bulky pair of high-powered binoculars.  The other part of his misery could be attributed to the fact that Ms. Bitters had given him detention, again, for fighting with Zim in class.  Dib had spent the last three hours scraping ketchup and rice off the cafeteria walls with a sponge smaller than his thumbnail.  Zim, naturally, got off scot-free.  Dib scanned the street with his binoculars.  Nothing.  He was beginning to wonder if he was wasting his time.  After all, he—waitaminute—what was that?

            A figure was emerging from Zim's yard.  Make that two figures.  The first seemed to be an old man.  The second appeared to be an animal of some sort.  Dib fiddled with a knob on the binoculars.  The view zoomed in.  The old man was dressed in an old brown coat and a ridiculous flowered hat.  He had green skin.  A small green dog was trotting in front of him.

            "Zim!" Dib whispered to himself.  "What on Earth does he think he's doing?"

            By this point Zim and Gir were almost level with Dib.  Dib leaped dramatically out from the bush.  Or at least he tried to.  His foot caught on an inconveniently placed root, and he sprawled most ungracefully and undramatically on the ground in front of Zim.

            Zim's eyes widened in shock, but he said nothing.  He was confident that his brilliant disguise, created by the most superior Irken technology, was more than adequate to fool the inferior Dib-human.

            Dib scrambled to his feet.  "Zim!" 

            Zim looked at him in mock surprise and confusion,  "What?  Who are you little worm baby?  I know not of any Zim."

            "Oh come on, Zim.  You think that pathetic disguise is really going to fool me?  What are you up to?  And what is with that hat?"

            Zim narrowed his eyes in annoyance.  "You have a twig in your hair."

            "Oh, thanks."  Dib plucked out the twig and tossed it away.  "Hey, wait a second!  Zim, what evil are you planning now?"

            "I told you.  I am not this Zim of whom you speak.  I am just a simple human old-monkey, walking my ordinary human dog."

            Gir grinned and waved at Dib.

            "You've got to be kidding me.  How stupid do you think I am?"            

            Zim bit back a retort and smiled as sickeningly sweet as he was able.

            Dib, realizing that conversation was getting him nowhere, reached forward and snatched Zim's hat off, revealing his antennae.

            "Hey!  Human stink, return my disguise at once!"

            "Don't think so Zim.  Not until you tell me exactly what you're planning."           

            Zim looked around nervously.  It was only a matter of time before another human passing by saw him without his disguise.  He shuddered as visions of himself, strapped to an autopsy table with Dib laughing triumphantly in the background, flitted through his brain.

            "Fine," he agreed grumpily.  "But first you have to return my human head covering."

            "No," Dib replied.  "Talk first."

            Zim growled in annoyance.  "What if someone passing by sees me?"

            Dib grinned wickedly.  "Guess you better talk fast then, _alien_."

            Zim muttered something unintelligible.  "Very well.  I'm going to destroy the telemarketers."

            Dib stared openmouthed.  "What?"

            Zim took advantage of Dib's confusion to snatch back his hat, and settle it firmly over his antennae.  Dib, still staring, barely noticed.

            "Oh, and don't bother trying to stop me.  You'd only fail miserably.  Come on Gir."  He tugged Gir's leash and continued walking.

            "Why's his head so big, why's his head so big?"

            "Quiet, Gir."

            Dib shook himself to clear his head.  "I have to stop him.  But…but…they're _telemarketers_!  If I let him go, Zim will win.  But if I stop him, the Earth is doomed to an eternity of obnoxious phone calls and junk mail!  What should I do?  Wait!  I know!  I'll go to the Swollen Eyeballs site!  I can ask my fellow agents for help!  Geez, I really gotta stop talking to myself."

            Dib, still muttering softly, headed back towards the Membrane house, and the nearest Internet link-up.

            By the time Dib reached his house, Zim was already several blocks away, in the city's commercial district.  He was gazing upward at a very tall building.  It was at least 100 stories high, but instead of being constructed of that shiny, black, one-way glass commonly seen in high-rises, it was made entirely of concrete.  There were no windows.  The telemarketing executives had long ago decided that things like windows, and the fresh air and sunlight usually associated with them, were nothing but a source of distraction for employees.  So, in a bold distraction-cutting maneuver, all windows were removed from the building.  Productivity soared.  Surprisingly enough, at-work suicide rates dropped dramatically.  This had little to do with moral, and a lot more to do with the fact that it is pretty much physically impossible to jump out a concrete wall.

            Right now, however, what attracted Zim's attention was not the building's lack of amenities.  Rather, it was the thousands of telephone lines hooked up to the roof of the building.  Every few minutes, a power surge would crackle down one of the lines.  It was a very unnerving sight.

            Zim was not going to allow himself to be unnerved by any feeble human construction.

            "Gir, let's go!" he snapped.

            With Gir trotting happily in front of him, Zim stepped through the revolving glass to the lobby.  

            Oooo, what's going to happen next?  Will Zim destroy the telemarketers?  Will Dib enlist the help of the Swollen Eyeballs?  No one knows, not even me.  When I figure it out, you'll be the first to know.  Till then, thanks to everyone who reviewed, especially those who sent suggestions!  Instant Creepy Chihuahua in a Can, New and Improved Acne Blast, and the Poop Cola merchandise belong to ChocoRacer.  The weird rock-selling company belongs to Irken Insane.  Thanks again for the suggestions guys!  More bizarre companies submitted by people who are not me will be seen in my next chapter!  Hooray! 


	4. The End

            Hey, I finally updated this.  I'm gonna miss writing it.  I think I'll be finishing the chain letter thing next.  When you're done reading this fic, go read that one!  Okay, I'm done with my shameless plugging for today.  You can read the end of the fic now.

Zim stepped into the lobby and looked around suspiciously.  It was devoid of life, except for a bored looking teenage girl sitting at the reception desk.  She was chewing gum loudly and painting her fingernails a lurid shade of red to match her lips.  She was paying no attention at all to Zim.  Zim eyed her warily, and turned to Gir.

            "Gir!" Zim ordered, "Gir, I need you to—Gir?"

            Gir was not in the lobby.  Gir was in the revolving glass door, happily pushing it in circles without the slightest inkling of how to get out of it.  When he came around again, Zim grabbed his leash and yanked him roughly out of it.

            "Let's do that again!" Gir yelled joyfully.

"No, Gir, we have no time for games.  The security of our base has been compromised!  Now come on."

He dragged Gir over to the reception desk.  The girl continued to crack her gum and paint her nails, refusing to acknowledge their existence.

Zim dropped Gir's leash and hopped up onto the desk.

"You!  Human desk-monkey!  Where can I find the telemarketers?"

The girl inspected her nails one last time, then turned to look down her nose at Zim.

"There are, like, no animals, like, allowed in the building.  You'll have to, like, leave that green, like, thing, like, outside." 

"Nonsense," Zim replied, trying to think of a reason the stink-girl should allow Gir inside, "Gir's my…uh…my…one of those things…that humans that can't see use to…uh…help them."

"Oh, like, you mean a seeing-eye, like, dog?"

"Yeeesss, that's it."

"Like, well, okay mister, but you still, like, need, like, an appointment."

 "WHAT?!  You still deny me entrance to the telemarketers?  You know not the powers with which you are dealing!  DO NOT INVOKE THE WRATH OF THE IRKEN ELITE!"

"Like, if you don't, like, get an appointment, and, like, cool it a little, mister, I'm gonna have to, like, call, like, security on you."

"Grrrrrrr.  Forget these stupid human conventions!  Let's go Gir!"

He jumped off the desk, snatched Gir's leash, and marched into the elevator.  He pressed the button for the 20th floor.

The receptionist picked up a phone sitting on the desk.

"Hello, like, security?  There's this, like, old blind dude, like, trying to get into the building.  He doesn't have, like, an appointment."

Inside the elevator, Zim's nerves were becoming a little frayed.  Watching Gir dancing and singing along to the already annoying elevator music wasn't helping.  Around the 15th floor, Zim's eye began to twitch.  Halfway between the 19th and 20th floors, the elevator stuck.  Thankfully, the music also stopped.

"Awwwww, where'd the music go?"

"Quiet, Gir, I think we've stopped moving."

He tried to pry open the door.

"Gaaahhh!  Stupid human door!  Gir, use your lasers to cut it open!"

" 'Kay!"  
  


The top of Gir's head slid away.  A flood of floor wax, junk mail, and Styrofoam packing peanuts shot out of his head.

"Aaaahhhh!  Gir!  What are you doing?!"

"I don't knooooow."

"I said _lasers_, not…not…Grrrrrrr."

The speakers in the elevator started abruptly.  But instead of playing music they were transmitting an announcement.

"THIS IS SECURITY.  THERE IS AN INTRUDER PRESENT IN THE BUILDING, BUT THERE IS NO NEED TO PANIC!  WE HAVE STOPPED ALL ELEVATORS AND HAVE RESTRICTED THE USE OF THE STAIRWELLS UNTIL THE INTRUDER IS CAUGHT.  WE ARE SORRY FOR ANY INCONVIENENCE THIS MAY CAUSE."            

The speakers went dead again.

"Gir!  Use your lasers!  NOW!"

Gir saluted.  "Yes, my master."

Gir managed to weld a hole through the ceiling of the elevator.  Zim used the spider legs in his backpod to hoist himself and Gir through the opening.  They clambered up an elevator cable to the 20th floor.  Gir cut another hole with his lasers to allow them access to the floor.

Zim surveyed his new surroundings with distaste.  The large floor was divided up into 50 or so small, walled in areas.  Each area contained a desk, chair, computer, and one human.  The humans were all wearing headsets, which they were all jabbering into rapidly.  The noise was deafening.  Zim assumed these were the telemarketers.  

He eyed their computers with interest. 

"Gir, we need access to a telemarketer's computer consol.  Then we can access their database and delete our house from its memory."

"Yay!"

Zim's eyes narrowed as he gazed around the room, trying to devise a way to separate a telemarketer from his or her computer.  No opportunities immediately presented themselves.  He would just have to create his own opportunities.

"Gir!  Go use your advanced diversion tactics to distract that human!"

"Yes sir!"

Gir trotted off towards the nearest cubicle.  A skinny, harried looking man with pale skin and enormous bags under his eyes was babbling into his headset.

"Hello, I'm a representative of the Le Grosse Derriere Poofy French Stuff, calling to offer you the chance to experience our fabulous new product!"

The 'click' was audible as the person on the other end hung up.

Gir approached the telemarketer.

"Hiiiiiii!!" he yelled.

The telemarketer stared.  "Um, what?"

"Hiiiiiiii!!" Gir said again.

The telemarketer stared some more, not sure how to deal with actual communication outside of a phone line.

"I like you," Gir told him happily.  

The telemarketer didn't respond.

"I wanted to see the monkey!"

The telemarketer's eyes crossed and he passed out from sheer confusion and sensory overload.  He wasn't used to talking to and looking at a person simultaneously.

Zim hurried over to the desk.

"Good work Gir!"

Zim started tapping at the keyboard.  He managed to access the database, and began a search for his name.  The computer seemed to take an intolerably long time to process his request.  After a lot of unnecessary clanking, whirring, and beeping, the computer displayed Zim's name on its screen.  Zim quickly deleted it.

"YES!" he crowed, leaping onto the desk.  "Another amazing victory for me, ZIM!  They can't bug me into buying stuff now!" 

He froze, as he realized the room had gone completely silent.  All the telemarketers were staring openmouthed at Zim.

"He…he said 'buy'," one of them said incredulously. 

"They must be customers!"

"Let's get 'em!"

"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"  Zim screamed in terror as every telemarketer on the 20th floor started towards him, eager to sell their useless products.

"Buy from me!  Free steak knives with every order!"

"No, buy this!  20 CDs for the price of one!  And you could win a free ice cream scoop!"

"Order from here!  We'll exchange your boring old $100 bills for shiny new pennies!  Only $999999.99!"

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!  GET AWAY!  GET AWAY!"

"Heeheeheeheehee!  Look master!  They liiiiike you!"

Zim ran for the elevator, realized it was blocked, and swerved towards the stairwell.  He raced down the stairs, pursued by 50 crazed telemarketers.  In his panic, he had completely forgotten about security.  Ten floors down, halfway to escape, he remembered.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!  Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh—Uh-oh."

Zim and Gir plowed straight into 7 heavily armed security guys.  The nearest one grabbed Zim in one hand and Gir in the other.

"Hey Gen'ral, I think I caught the intruders!"

  The General came over to look.  He was not in a good mood, because he hated being a security guard.  He used to be a real general in the military, until a freak giant hamster incident cost him his job.  He smacked the guy who had spoken in the back of the head.

"How many times have I told you not to call me 'General'?"

"Sorry, Gener—sir."

The General fixed his eyes on Zim.  "Do you have an appoint—Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh!"

Just as the General was about to begin interrogating Zim, the telemarketers came rushing down the stairs.  They also plowed into the security team.  The end result was that all 57 humans plus Zim and Gir tumbled down 10 flights of stairs and rolled into the lobby.  In the confusion, Zim snuck to the door, dragging Gir behind him.

The same Valley Girl receptionist from earlier was still at the front desk.  Finished with her nails, she was now applying excessive amounts of mascara.  She looked up at the commotion.

"Hey, look!  It's like, that blind dude, from, like, before, that didn't have, like, an appointment."

Zim dashed through the revolving glass doors.  Unfortunately, he dashed a little too hard.  The doors spun around one, two, three times, and flung him back out into the lobby.

The mob of people in the lobby had begun to disentangle themselves.  They all began to move toward him, yelling either threats or sales pitches (or both, depending on how cheesed off the telemarketer was).

Zim and Gir ran through the doors again, more slowly this time.  They emerged outside.  Gir was giggling madly.

Zim pulled him along down the street until they were a safe distance away.  He leaned against a streetlight to rest.

"We've won, Gir.  Our mission is safe.  One more victory for the Irken Empire against these disgusting humans.  Let's go home."

"Can I have a brainfreezie now?"

"Yes, I suppose."

Wow, I finally finished this!  Yay!  *sniff*  I'm gonna miss it.  Thanks to everyone who reviewed!  The Poofy French Stuff company and free steak knives belong to Flipside.  The exchanging bills for loose change thing is Katterree's idea, and the 20 CDs for the price of one thing is Invader Ally's.  Read and review, please! 


End file.
